The gift of suffering

By Melanie Jean Juneau

Christ as the Suffering Redeemer by Mantegna
(Wikimedia Commons)

“God loves us, so He makes us the gift of suffering.

Through suffering, we release our hold on the toys of this world, and know our true good lies in another world.

We’re like blocks of stone, out of which the sculptor carves the forms of men.

The blows of his chisel, which hurt us so much, are what make us perfect.

The suffering in this world is not the failure of God’s love for us;it is that love in action.

For believe me, this world that seems to us so substantial is no more than the shadlowlands.

Real life has not begun yet.” (“Shadowlands,” p. 1)

I once asked a priest what my life would have been like if I had not suffered, if I had married a well-off dentist, had 1.25 kids and lived in an efficient, modern house. He put on a phony, pious face, put his hands together in prayer, and said in a high, mocking voice, ”Oh, you would be a nice Christian lady, praising the Lord.”

Continue reading at Melanie's blog, joyofnine9.

The blood machine

By Caroline

I don’t remember the official medical name of the blood machine, but it was softly ticking like a clock keeping time for an event no one wants to be a part of.

This was the fourth time I’d seen Mr J on my pastoral care visits to the hospital this year and he is a very special person; always willing to share a smile despite the cancer that is eating away at his body and blood. He never fails to invite me to sit down and I always do because he teaches me about suffering with joy, he teaches me to take my eyes off myself, he teaches me to trust Jesus more and I never fail to tear up as soon as my feet touch the threshold of the doorway on my way to the next patient.

I’m so happy to see you Mr J, only….not here. We both smiled as I took his hand.

Yes, he said, here I am again. They blew out my veins on my last visit which started this whole latest trauma…water in my blood.

Pull up that darn chair, he quipped.

As I did, he defied the pain I’m sure he felt as he lifted his right arm black and blue from many attempts to access his veins bound by embedded tubes so impeccably taped in place, it’s hard to imagine they could ever come out; he took from his bed-table…a beautiful boxed cross. It had a ruby red jewel at the top.


Continue reading at Caroline's blog Bell of the Wanderer.

My own "Crown of Thorns"

By Theresa

{my favorite icon: Nymphios which means Bridegroom}

As I was reflecting on my Profession into the Secular Order of the Discalced Carmelites, I was thinking particularly about the name I took when I received the scapular many years ago. I felt inspired to take the name "Theresa of Jesus Crowned with Thorns" since I have a great devotion to this image of Jesus. This image, most of all, pierces my very soul.

I also reflected on how Christ has allowed me to share in this particular suffering during the last 14 years. Through my own depression, anxiety and the chronic insomnia that resulted...Jesus has blessed me with my very own "crown of thorns". This was compounded by the erratic sleep patterns of my youngest daughter and in the last several years, different hours at work that require me to be "on call" through several nights (so I can stay home during the day). Many, many times, it has felt like anything but a "blessing". But it is through this very suffering that God has taught me to rely completely on Him to help me make it through the day...to take care of my family, my home, to work part-time, in other words, to remain faithful to my vocation as wife, mother, and Carmelite.

Please do not get the impression that I did not fail in accepting this suffering. I failed many times...miserably failed...to the point of despair. In the depths of severe sleep deprivation, it is not hard for one to lose all hope and feel as though something will snap inside. There must of been a thread...a thin thread...that kept my soul clinging to God with whatever strength was left. And each time, He pulled me out of the depths of despair. I have lost count...


Continue reading at Theresa's blog my desert heart.

Mortification, Penance, Suffering Seen through the Holy Spirit

By Barbara A. Schoeneberger

Flower Sellers of London by Dore
(Wikimedia Commons)

Comprehending the value of the Cross, of suffering, of willful mortification and penance is impossible with the human eye alone. We need the light of the Holy Spirit to live through that which is visited upon us just as Jesus was seized and killed by worldly powers. In the eyes of the world he was just a man, one certainly with extraordinary power to heal both hearts and bodies, but in the end, just someone who could be killed to be gotten out of the way.

To the world, suffering makes no sense. It is a mystery. Mortification and penance make no sense. The world cannot conceive the hidden meaning and value of suffering and so it vainly seeks to end it by purely earthly means – this program and that, but oddly enough only creating more suffering.

When by the grace of the Holy Spirit and with a generous heart charity seizes us, we can not only accept that which is beyond our control, but also choose to take advantage of all the many instances we find daily to deny ourselves and follow in the footsteps of the Lord.
In Meditation #97 of Divine Intimacy Father Gabriel of St. Mary Magdalene writes:

The spirit of mortification has more than a purely physical aspect of mortification; it also includes renunciation of the ego, the will, and the understanding.

Continue reading at Barb's blog Suffering with Joy.

A time of Visitation

By Caroline

The Good Shepherd, Ravenna Mausoleums (Wikimedia Commons)

Besides you know the time has come; the moment is here for you to stop sleeping and wake up,
because by now our salvation is nearer than when we first began to believe.
–Romans 13:11

Maybe it’s the season for angels. I don’t know.

I usually don’t have time to stop in the hospital chapel after my visits, but today was different. Today I sensed something in my spirit, something palpable, but hard to put in words; that still small voice gnawing at my soul, vying for my my attention, which for several hours had been preoccupied with the stories of God’s dear people. They, who are worn down with the afflictions of physical suffering are many times over my greatest teachers.

But today, I somehow knew I was not to pass up a visit to the chapel.

With each passing week, I’ve noticed in many patients another sort of fatigue has set in and it has nothing to do with their bodies..It’s as if through them, the Lord is trying to tell me something; they whose suffering leaves nothing to the imagination, yet whose smiles make room for me to sit– though their hospital gowns barely cover them– and nurses intrude on their tears as they bare to me the spiritual wounds of their heart. In almost every patient I’ve recently seen they are crying as if in imitation of Christ, not for themselves, but for us as a country and people who are turning away from the day of the Lord’s visitation.


Continue reading at Caroline's blog Bell of the Wanderer.

Mortification, Penance, Suffering Seen through the Holy Spirit

By Barbara A. Schoeneberger

 

Comprehending the value of the Cross, of suffering, of willful mortification and penance is impossible with the human eye alone. We need the light of the Holy Spirit to live through that which is visited upon us just as Jesus was seized and killed by worldly powers. In the eyes of the world he was just a man, one certainly with extraordinary power to heal both hearts and bodies, but in the end, just someone who could be killed to be gotten out of the way.

To the world, suffering makes no sense. It is a mystery. Mortification and penance make no sense. The world cannot conceive the hidden meaning and value of suffering and so it vainly seeks to end it by purely earthly means – this program and that, but oddly enough only creating more suffering. When by the grace of the Holy Spirit and with a generous heart charity seizes us, we can not only accept that which is beyond our control, but also choose to take advantage of all the many instances we find daily to deny ourselves and follow in the footsteps of the Lord.

In Meditation #97 of Divine Intimacy Father Gabriel of St. Mary Magdalene writes:>

The spirit of mortification has more than a purely physical aspect of mortification; it also includes renunciation of the ego, the will, and the understanding.

Continue reading at Barb's blog Suffering With Joy.

Misery is a choice

By Barbara A. Schoeneberger

Altarpiece of the Seven Joys of Mary (Wikimedia Commons)

Do you know people who are truly miserable? I am not speaking here of that great percentage of the world who live in poverty and disease, in war-torn countries, victims of natural disasters that destroy lives completely, or where people face a choice of convert to this or that religion or die. I am also not speaking of sexually and physically abused children nor of those who have been trafficked for financial gain of others, nor of the many other evils in the world. That temporal misery is forced upon persons by outside powers for evil and selfish purposes. 

I am speaking of misery of heart and soul – an invisible misery that manifests itself outwardly most particularly by sins of the tongue, angry outbursts, rash judgment, destruction of property and/or relationships. The kind of internal churning misery that repels others and perpetuates itself both in oneself and in others in our lives with whom we interact.

We all know the constant complainer, the super-critic who is pleased about nothing, the selfish controller of others who continually resorts to manipulation to get what he or she wants. We all know our share of Chicken Littles for whom the sky is falling almost every day. Their lives are full of constant drama, singularly joyless. And who has not known active alcoholics and others addicts of all types? They live in a continual torment and spinning of fears, often using addiction as a way not to face the demons inside themselves. Maybe, just maybe, we can apply these descriptions to ourselves at one time or another in our lives.


Continue reading at Barb's blog Suffering with Joy.

A sad anniversary and a free chapter of Trusting God with St. Therese

By Connie Rossini

This is my family (plus two friends) on June 10, 1974.
I’m the one with the braids in the front.
Terri is behind me next to our mom.

Here is how our car looked thirty minutes later.

Today is the fortieth anniversary of one of the saddest events in my life so far. On June 10, 1974, our family was driving to the annual Catholic Charismatic Conference at the University of Notre Dame. We began our journey in Spokane, Washington, where we had spent a weekend on retreat. Just outside Missoula, Montana, the car rolled over three times, landing in the median of the freeway. I was in the back with the seat down and no seat belt. So were two of my siblings and two friends.

I ended up with stitches in my leg and a bump on my head. My sister Terri, who had been sitting next to me, was thrown from the car and died. She was ten years old.

Why did God let this happen? Didn’t He know where we had come from and where we were going? Hadn’t He heard Terri’s voice, when she had volunteered that morning to pray for a safe trip?


Continue to Connie's blog to receive your free chapter of Trusting God with St. Therese.

Be a people of the Word

By Caroline

Light of the World by William Holman
Hunt (Wikimedia Commons).

I’m on a short three-week break in between classes so I’ve had some time to catch up on news and things around the cultural landscape… Sometimes, I wonder why I bother. What an assault on the senses, what a challenge for anyone in this modern day to continue on the path of living in the world, but not being of it. It’s difficult seeking a life where one is,

like sheep among the wolves…as cunning as serpents and yet as harmless as doves.

—Matthew 10:16

Quite an exercise in discernment and yet, if I don’t do it, my class of 6th graders tell me about it nonetheless and then some; at least this way I’m prepared.

When they do tell me, they expect me to react as the world does, in anger and bitterness. They expect me to give in to the inevitability that, whatever I may teach them about God’s ways, it just isn’t going to cut it in the world where they’re growing up .

And the children are really in survival mode. The stories I hear about what goes on daily in school, it’s heartbreaking. But, bless their hearts they carry on and they have the energy to because they’re young.

 Who can overcome the world?

—1 John 5:5

 Continue reading at Caroline's blog Bell of the Wanderer.

Miracle babies and the pain of infertility

By Patricia

The Birth of John the Baptist by Tintoretto (Wikimedia Commons)

While my husband was checking out at Sam’s this afternoon, I took a seat in the snack area nearby.  And it was there that it captured me….a tiny, delicately sculpted foot with dimples and miniature toes….a perfect work of art.  I always marvel at that fresh beauty of a baby’s little fingers and toes, appearing almost too perfect to be real…like a masterpiece of purest wax.

This tiny, kicking foot was kissed and cuddled by an adorable little girl of about four, no doubt sister to whom I later saw was a baby boy of a few months, peacefully nursing from his bottle.  And, I didn’t cry.  Those of you who know my story might have expected that.

But not this time.  As I watched the husband and father of this trio gather his family together, I was lost in thought over the wondrous power they possessed.

Do they ever think about such things….these life- bearers entrusted with clothing in flesh the very children of God?   I know that we, the infertile, the barren, probe this mystery in breathless and unending fascination, turning it round and round, in wondrous contemplation.

But what of us?  Are we forgotten, somehow cursed by God, disgraced and covered in shame as once believed not so long ago…and surprisingly, somewhat in our own day.

Continue reading at Patricia's blog I Want to See God.

When Jesus held my baby

A guest post by Jaime Cheaney

Jesus and the Children by Ellenrieder
(Wikimedia Commons).

This year at Easter Sunday mass, I was flooded with memories of my first miscarriage.  My miscarriage began on Holy Saturday of 2011, and at Easter Sunday mass the next day, I couldn’t bear the sound of the joyful church bells ringing.  It was just too much—I quickly scooped up my toddler and ran out of church, acting like she was too loud to stay in mass.  I hid downstairs in the parish center and sobbed, unable to choke out a single “Alleluia” in celebration of Christ’s Resurrection.

About a week after my miscarriage, I wrote the following healing words.  They still bring me comfort.  The Holy Spirit keeps nudging me to share these words with others.  I think it well help me find closure.  My baby will be remembered.

April 23, 2011

April 22nd was a wonderful day.  I nibbled on crackers, hoping to settle my stomach.  Morning sickness?  That made me laugh.  This pregnancy was no different from my other seven.  At five weeks pregnant, the all-day sickness was starting.

Evening though I dreaded the throwing up in my future, I welcomed it.  It seemed like a sign that my baby, as surprising as it was to have growing inside of me, was thriving.  My tiny little baby the size of a sesame seed!

Continue reading at Jaime's blog The Fruitful Mother.

Into your hands I commend my spirit

By Heidi

The Denial of St. Peter by Caravaggio (Wikimedia Commons).

"Though all may have their faith in you shaken, mine will never be.” Matthew 26:33

It has been a tough Lent for me, a long dry spell in prayer has continued, though not completely without respite.  Along with that a family situation suddenly came upon us that will continue to demand much prayer, love and sacrifice into an uncertain future.  And here I am with nothing to offer, not a thing. 

One day, as my husband and I were waiting on some news with our loved one, I reflected on how empty I felt, how impoverished I was in this particular situation.  How impoverished I had always been.  I stand at a crucial moment, like Peter at his denial of the Lord, relying on my own store of love and fidelity and I find am empty! In that emptiness, fear, resentment and bitterness were threatening to invade. “Lord!”  I cried, “I have no love!” 

The Lord GOD is my help,
therefore I am not disgraced;
I have set my face like flint,
knowing that I shall not be put to shame. 
Isaiah 50:7

It was a Thursday, so, since I had nothing to do but wait, I prayed the Luminous Mysteries of the Rosary.  Oh, because of my dryness in prayer I tried to distract myself with other things, but in the end I relented to the call to pray. 

I don’t think I ever finished it, because as I prayed the second Luminous mystery, The Wedding of Cana I began to realize that Our Blessed Mother was helping me to ask for His love to minister to this situation, and in fact to overflow into my past failures to endure in love and faithful patience.  In turn, I was being invited to wait on the Lord.  How can one trust such an intuition?  How can one cling to it with nothing to see as proof it will come to fruition?


Continue reading at Heidi's blog Journey to Wisdom.

The Rosary, a balm for crisis

By Lora Goulet

Photo: Wikimedia Commons

A crisis, makes it so easy to forget the vast power of quiet prayer. "Solutions" are not always the answer to a problem...
  
 Trustingly being still and letting events run their course is more difficult than giving in to the impulse to "do something", or worse yet to "say something."  After all, "Silence is golden!"     

 There's something beautiful and peaceful about praying the Rosary. It is a soothing "balm" for emotional crisis. Meditation on the events of the life of Jesus elevates the soul. The mind is released from the bondage of the fear of events beyond human control. Calling upon the Holy Spirit for help, opens the heart to prayer. The Almighty Father's power to fulfill His will is more immense than the entire blue sky above. Mary and Jesus never stop interceding for their children.

 Hail Mary, full of  grace, the Lord is with thee Blessed art thou among women And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary Mother of GodPray for us sinners, now; And at the hour of our death.  AMEN.

 En Los Corazones de Jesús y María


Lora originally posted this at Camino La Mancha.

Mary's Memories: the Sorrowful Mysteries

By Mallory Hoffman

Madonna by Pinskaya
(Wikimedia Commons)

The Agony in the Garden

I felt my heart begin to break when I knew Jesus and His Apostles had left for the Garden.  The Apostles were uneasy.  They sensed that My Son was sorrowful.  He had warned them that He would be killed, but they did not believe.  I fell to my knees with the other women and we began to pray.  Jesus began to suffer in the Garden.  He felt the weight of sin on his shoulders and satan was there to tempt Him again.  Jesus was sorrowful beyond words.  I could feel His sorrow in my heart.  How he could bear the weight I do not know.  I’ve never known such sorrow.  He asked His Father to let this cup pass, but the Father withdrew.  Jesus accepted His cup for love of us.  His soul was at peace, but He knew what was to come.  When they came to arrest Him, My Jesus identified Himself to the soldiers of the temple.  They began to beat Him.  When Peter tried to stop this by cutting off the ear of the soldier, Jesus reminded Peter that this what was meant to be.  Jesus healed the soldier’s ear.  The other soldiers were stunned.   My Son was beaten and taken to both Herod and Pilate.  My Jesus, My Beautiful Son!  My heart weeps.  My heart weeps when I see You.  My precious Child.  I love You!

The Scourging at the Pillar.

How could I look?  Jesus did not look like Himself.  His beautiful face was swollen and bruised.  His eye was swollen shut.  When asked about the charges, Jesus would not answer.  Pilate tried to calm the crowds.  He knew that Jesus did not do anything wrong, but he was afraid.  He ordered Jesus to be scourged.  My Son!  My Son!  You are the Son of God, but they do not know You!  These are the people who were cheering You and calling You the Messiah.  Now they are calling for your death.  My Son!  I am here.  I hear the whips as they strike Your flesh.  I feel the whips as they rip into Your flesh.  I see the blood flow from Your skin.  Your flesh is hanging in shreds, and they continue to beat You.  The sear of the air on Your wounds brings tears to My eyes.  My Son, how do You bear this pain?  They want to kill You.  Pilate did not order that.  My God!  My God!  Protect Your Son!  I am weak.  How much more weak are You, My beautiful Child?  At last, the beatings have stopped and the soldiers are giving You back Your clothing that is soaked with your blood.  You can barely walk.  You lost so much blood!  If they only knew how much You loved them!   I see You looking at me.  I am here, My Son!  I am here.  Be strong!  I. am. here.

 Read the rest of the mysteries at His UnEnding Love.

In the midst of the Storm

By Mallory Hoffman

Walking on Water by Aivazovsky (Wikimedia Commons)

Life is never without challenges.  It’s easy to be good and choose God when life is calm, and there are no storms to navigate.  Life is much easier if we are not being pelted by rain and dodging the fearful lightning strikes as we walk.  Our fears and anxieties  rage against us, unleashed by the storm.  Where is the peace God promised us?  How can we survive this onslaught of rage and violence?  What can we do?

We can pray.  Prayer is the primary and most effective weapon we have been given to battle any evil, any storm.   When we humble ourselves and pray, we surrender our will to God’s Will.  God’s Will is love.  God’s Will is peace.  God’s Will is that we become saints.  He doesn’t cause the storms, but He allows them to happen so that through the gift of free will, we can choose Him and grow closer to Him through our sufferings.  We can choose His Will.  We can allow God to use the storm to purify our souls.  We only need to keep our eyes on Him.  Through prayer, we open ourselves up to God and His graces pour down on us.
 

Continue reading at Mallory's blog His UnEnding Love.

Jesus, the ultimate empath

By Barbara A. Schoeneberger

The Sacred Heart (Wikimedia Commons).

To be an empath is to be able to feel what others feel. Literally. A lot has been written about this phenomenon in recent years, often by New Agers who think it is some kind of psychic phenomenon. I couldn’t find any reputable scientific studies on it, but rather lots of anecdotal evidence for its existence.

Mothers often say that they are connected to their children and know if something is wrong, even over long distances, and vice versa. Some people can’t serve in the medical profession because they feel the pains of the ill in their own bodies unless they turn away and block it. Watching surgeries on TV is not an option.

Watching people receive injections is out of the question.  The worst part is feeling the emotions an abused person, child or adult, feels. The fear, anger, confusion, despair, and desperateness, the turmoil and anguish of someone who is or has been victimized are much more than words on a page or audio waves in the air to an empath as I’ve seen the term applied.

Some people might think empaths are crazy, but being crazy and being highly empathetic are not synonymous. If that were the case, we would have to consider that Jesus was not alright in the head, and that is not a possibility except in the eyes of a cold, hard, selfish world. Being an empath, or having a high degree of empathy for the suffering of others, is actually an aid to fraternal charity and to fulfilling the second Great Commandment. It is a great natural gift given to some for the supernatural good of others.


Continue reading at Barb's blog Suffering With Joy.

Going through God's meat grinder

By Barbara A. Schoeneberger

The Liberation of St. Peter by Terbrugghen (photo: Wikimedia Commons)

Our journey towards sainthood can be compared to being put through a meat grinder. I’m old enough to know what meat grinders look like in action, having personally observed the cook use one in the convent where I once lived. A slab of a former cow is reduced to a pile of hamburger on its way to filling the stomachs of the hungry and so it is with us in our transformation along the way to heaven. God, our heavenly chef makes mincemeat out of us to shape us into something useful and delicious to feed those hungry for salvation.

Being ground up to bits is not fun. We can’t endure it without the grace of faith. St. Therese of Lisieux knew this well, writing in Story of a Soul, “I have made more acts of faith during the past year than in all the rest of my life.” In this case she was speaking of the dark night of the soul, but her words could just as easily apply to all the circumstances we face when God allows us to endure situations which afflict, humble, and mortify us.

Divine Intimacy Father Gabriel of St. Mary Magdalene writes:

It will sometimes be easier to accept heavy trials which come directly from Our Lord, such as illness and bereavement, than other lighter ones where creatures enter into play, and for which, perhaps, we experience greater repugnance. The immediate action of creatures, especially if their malice has a share in it, makes it more difficult for us to discover the divine hand. A greater spirit of faith is necessary here, that we may pass beyond the human side of circumstances, the faulty way of acting of such and such a person, and find, beyond all these human contingencies, the dispositions of divine Providence, which wills to use these particular creatures, and even their defects and errors, to file away our self-love and destroy our pride.

Continue reading at Barb's blog  Suffering With Joy.

Don't Stop Believin'--the magic of Christmas

By Lara

Christmas Comes But Once a Year by Charles Greene (Wikimedia Commons).

 


We all know Christmas is about an innocent baby born in a manger. But for me, what embodies the spirit of the season this year has to do with a 49-year-old man who will be getting out of prison this week.

I know that doesn’t make you all warm and fuzzy the way your footed pajamas and hot cocoa by the fire does.

I get that.

The birth of our Savior is the greatest story ever told, not to mention it has baby lambs in it too.  There’s no way I can compete with that.

Certainly, the man in prison is no Christ-child.

He is an addict.

He is an ordinary Joe.  Well, kind of anyway.

What I mean by ordinary is he made a mistake, and how much more ordinary can you get than making mistakes – it seems to be at the essence of our humanity.

I guess what is unique about his mistake, unlike so many of mine, is it landed him in prison.

Thirteen years ago Joe was arrested for buying cocaine for personal use, and was charged and sentenced as a trafficker.  His punishment was 20 years with no chance of parole.

Kind of harsh.
 
The world is full of addicts though. It seems everyone’s addicted to something — drugs, fame, possessions, power and oh, how I could go on.  So, Joe is kind of ordinary that way.

Joe is one of six boys whose family grew up next door to a dear friend of mine.  Their moms were best friends for 40 years.  Even the way my friend described her childhood, that Joe was so much a part of, was kind of ordinary.  They carpooled together, teased each other, and played with all the other kids until way past dark.


Read the rest at Lara' blog Mercy Me! I've got work to do.

Do you know the name of your guardian angel?

By Nancy Ward

Guardian Angel by Domeenchino (Wikimedia Commons).

Years ago a Bible study friend of mine talked about going shopping with Lenore. Who was Lenore? Her guardian angel. How did she know her name? She asked her.

So I began to ask my guardian angel what her name was. After several years with no results, I started calling her Grace. If she didn’t like that name, she could tell me what to call her.

Months went by with Grace and I doing things together. Mostly I called on her because of electrical storms, traffic jams or nightmares. Sometimes I remembered her when I was joyful. She watched over me when I slept.

As I recuperated from injuries from a traffic accident, I couldn’t fulfill my responsibilities and I needed her. Early one morning after a difficult night, I tried to put myself in the presence of God by surrendering all my concerns, my pain, my unachieved goals and desires. In my weakness, the Holy Spirit gave me many graces. I received insights about several ministry projects, including new ways to use our website for evangelism. I sought guidance on a manuscript about joy that I was writing, but nothing came about that. While I was in this listening position that God sometimes puts me in, I heard distinctly in my mind, “Her name is Joy.” I hadn’t even asked!


Continue reading at Nancy's blog  JOY Alive in Our Hearts. 

Our Lady, Undoer of Knots, and medical miracles

By Anabelle Hazard

Anabelle and her dad, swinging at Anabelle's
wedding.

Of course, bad things happen to good people. My innocent 14 month old nephew was run over by an SUV in a library parking lot in Orange County. Though there was a medic or a nurse (can’t remember now) on the site who helped administer first aid, he was rushed to the ER trauma unit and the doctors’ prognosis was that due to severe head injury, he had “less than 1% chance of survival.” 

Everyone in the circle of family and friends poured in for help and support. Those who visited the hospital prayed the rosary constantly with my cousin, the toddler’s mother. It so happened that they wound up in a hospital that had just gotten word about a nurse who’d just invented a brain catheter for children. Since it had just gotten approved, my nephew was the first patient to use it. The catheter would eventually save his life. My nephew is a healthy, soccer playing, trophy-winning, 14 year-old today.

Of her experience, my cousin has said, “God used that less than 1% chance of survival and turned it into a miracle.”

In mid October, my dad suffered a mild stroke. He was diagnosed with aneurysm. In layman’s terms, a couple of huge balloons lodged in inconvenient positions by his heart. Several local doctors refused to perform surgery and others floated a risky open-heart surgery as the solution.

At about this time, the earth trembled with a 7.4 magnitude earthquake, which damaged the hospital wing, prompting doctor-friends to advise my dad to fly to Manila for other options. My sister (a physician) scouted around for the nth medical opinion by seeking a cardiologist outside the hospital OR.  God-incidentaly, another physician (lounging at the sides) overheard the consultation and recommended a surgeon in Manila who specialized in a more modern, less invasive procedure of grafting instead of the open-heart surgery.


Continue reading at Anabelle's blog  Written By the Finger of God.